I’ve pushed through the “I’ll never write again feeling” and life is great!

But, I’m not making any promises because who knows what could happen, right?

It’s not that I like to disasterize life, but I want to be prepared – JUST. IN CASE. Imagine my life is a car on the road, I’m constantly looking at the ditch to prepare in case my life car ends up there. Where’s the best place to crash? Can I hold on until I get across this bridge? Who will I call first? What if I can’t reach anyone?

And before I know it, even though my life car is still on the road, cruising along as nice as can be, I’m upset because I haven’t prepared properly for the life car in the ditch.

Are these curse words for any other families? My Dad uttered it daily, when he couldn’t find a tool, or his shoes, or anything to eat.

That’s how I feel right now. I can’t find a story to write.

Twelve more days of this torture I signed up for.

A high school friend wrote on the first day of my experiment, “Don’t let me down!” Ugh. The guilt. But it’s working because I know I could never sleep tonight if I didn’t get something posted. Thank you, Jane.

Our black and white TV was a giant metal box that dominated our living room. It was 50’s brown and sat on a black wire stand that allowed it to be twirled swiveled for better viewing.

In our tiny house, there were many, MANY more kids than there were seats to hold them.

Dad got priority with the wooden backed rocker as he suffered his whole life from a bad back. He sat on his throne and ate bitter sharp cheddar cheese on saltines, or maybe an apple that he’d peel in one long strip. On really hot summer evenings he’d have half a cantaloupe with a scoop of ice cream in the middle. His snacks were ignored — until the ice cream came out.

Mom, relegated to doing five thousand loads of wash a day, came in and out but she had a reserved place on the couch. Anyone sitting there must immediately vacate the position.

That left two seats on the couch and one other chair…for seven kids. It was full-contact musical chairs, until someone invented “Saved for me.” Don’t ask me why this worked on a bunch of wild animals, but it did. We stood up, put our hands on the chair and shouted the magic words.

And then one day, my older sister calmly walked over to a saved chair and said, “Changes. Saved for me. No changes.”

Kapow! That was a game changer. Now when a kid stood up – to maybe go try for a scoop of Dad’s ice cream – the entire room held its breath. Would the idiot leave with only saying “Saved for me”? Sometimes they would.

I can still remember the feeling of satisfaction of being the one to claim a chair with the statement, “Changes. Save for me. No changes.” Perhaps I can remember the feeling so well because, we still use it to this day.

After yesterday’s blog post, I got lots of encouragement and one great idea. Change focus. So instead of talking about writing I’m going to talk about television.

I ‘m not much of a drinker and I’ve never smoked a cigarette in my life but, I, Mayor of Crazie Town, am a Home Improvement Show addict.

Really, any kind of an improvement show will do. Fixer Upper. Project Runway. Life Below Zero. Recently I binge watched something called Building Off the Grid, or some such name. One guy had a team build a mud house, shaped a lot like a tulip, on his remote property. It’s not totally useless information. I mean, I have a remote farm and now I SO want to build a tulip-shaped mud house there.

I’ve watched so many of these shows I seem to have lost the ability to follow something with an actual plot. Husband likes detective shows so we watch those together in the evening, only nobody’s building anything so I get bored. I’ve tried out one of those adult coloring books but am always disappointed in the results. I scan Facebook and Twitter and Instagram but no one’s building anything there either and I get itchy for a fix. Eventually, I sneak upstairs and and shoot up some HGTV.

I, Mayor of Crazie Town, am a Home Improvement Show addict and I’m taking it one day at a time.

I love the creating side of the business but hate the “business” side of the business. The Duotrope website has thousands of opportunities for submissions but when I open the tab, I don’t see opportunities for being published, I see thousands of opportunities for being rejected.

Like this:

Had an exciting day with my trainer – the one that I hate because he’s trying to kill me but also love because he’s trying to make me healthy.

Anyway, today — as I was pumping iron — I noticed the boxing side of the gym getting very busy. They have a new trainer who works with people with Parkinson’s Disease and they all seemed to arrive at the same time. And then a guy carrying camera equipment came in and joined them. Look for a story in the Kansas City Star.

While that was going on, another trainer was trying to get an older woman up on the stair machine (even I could have told her that was a bad idea). The woman yelled, “I’m going down!” Someone appeared with a chair before she hit the ground, but there was no getting her up from that point.

About five minutes later, two firemen arrived.

Two minutes after that the EMTs arrived and started weaving a gurney through the weight benches.

The owner’s of the gym have just adopted a deaf puppy who tried to escape each time the door was opened so there was a lot of shouting at her, which obviously did no good.

A guy walked in an wanted a tour of the gym.

The phone rang.

Did any of this dissuade my previously gentle trainer from shouting at me to do 15 more squats? I think you already know the answer.

Right now, I’m sitting in my living room reading over legal documents about my aunt’s will and laughing out loud to Despicable Me 2.

Earlier today I was at the farm using a chainsaw and directing a guy in a bulldozer to clear land. — By the way, favorite redneck moment: Bulldozer guy poured gasoline on a pile of dead trees and threw a kitchen match at the pile. WHOOSH. ” ‘At right thar,” he paused to spit “is the worse way to start a far.” —

When it came time to pay bulldozer guy, I picked up my delicate lemon yellow purse with the silk scarf tied to the handle and pulled out the checkbook. “Purty bag,” bulldozer guy said.

I’m still trying to figure out who I want to be when I grow up, and I’m not sure days like this help clear up this problem for me.